Her hand draped; met with mist
and calmly laid. Blue and milk
and midnight kissed, cooing porcelain
down to the sweet drip, where rose petals
drowned, and rose again, like Annabel’s hair
pinched in the air, and the trawler nets from the sea.
The curtain snitched, a maid, threadbare, gave to the wind,
and the moon stared. He drew her fair,
watched the sea clothe her in the sigh
and promised youth, and love, would fix
with the tied pearl ribbons around her foot,
growing lungs sore in the parting strides -
shuddering; salty kisses falling on her lips.
Her smile, her smile, he held bewitched
in ripples eclipsed in the dewy light
that touched her face, like a sleeping child,
and whispered, once, and only once,
his keeping heart, “Good night”.